


want you more (than i want to)

by calciseptine



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Dimension, Dirty Talk, M/M, May/December Relationship, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, POV Second Person, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/calciseptine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"like that, huh?" stan murmurs. his voice is dark and deep and full of awful promise. "when it hurts?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	want you more (than i want to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheeziswin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeziswin/gifts).



> this is for Cheez because [this post](http://cheeziswin.tumblr.com/post/142154038403/so-in-the-2fords-au-ive-noticed-that-and-this). basically it's another 2Fords1Stan au, but only one ford actually makes an appearance. INSERT SHRUG EMOJI
> 
> also, for clarification, the 'you' in this story is Ford. sorry for any confusion!

"there," you gasp as stan's hips press flush against your body. "right there, stanley—"

stan grinds into you, his fat cock dragging heavily against your sensitive prostate. you keen; it is an animalistic and unintentional noise. stan smirks and does it again. 

"god _damn,_ " you hiss. your fingers dig sharply into the meat of stan's shoulders, but the blunt edges of your nails do not break past the layers of his youthful, freckled skin. you have no time to wonder why that disappoints you; the inarticulate and hypothetical cannot compare to reality, and is quickly pulled away by the tide of your bodies. 

"like that, huh?" stan murmurs. his voice is dark and deep and full of awful promise. "when it hurts?" 

you look away and up from the place you are joined and take in the still rounded planes of stan's face. sweat beads along the line of his slicked back hair, gathers at his temples, and slides down the familiar cut of his jaw. adolescent acne blooms sweetly on the full swell of his cheeks—which are pink with exertion—and his wide mouth is plump and red from the worry of your teeth. 

"yes," you admit, helpless against the confession. the sight of your not-brother is unbearable; he is everything your foolish imagination had ever dreamt he would be, and more. "yes, stanley. please." 

the soft and yielding brown of stan's irises have been swallowed by the depthless black of his pupils. half-lidded and shadowed by the setting sun, he is almost a stranger. 

_but he is,_ the ever-present, logical portion of your mind whispers. _this boy is not yours._

you shove the truth of that thought away. you do not wish to think of the twin who followed you screaming into the world; the twin you grew up with and alongside; the twin who broke your trust; the twin you reached for; the twin you fought, the twin you burned, the twin you loved. no—you do not want to think of your stan, middle-aged and broken and alone on the cold and packed earth of your underground laboratory, especially not when you have another between your knees. 

"gonna come again," stan grits as he adjusts his grip on your hips. then, like a curse, "you're so fuckin' _tight_." 

stan's thumbs find the hollows beneath your pelvis and sink down hard into the vulnerable flesh. you know you will bruise—you're on the wrong side of fifty, now, and the elasticity of your skin and capillaries are not what they once were—yet it does not bother you. you like the bruises. they are catabolic badges of your time together, temporary yet undeniable, in healing shades of hemoglobinic red-blue and biliverdinic yellow-green. 

"then come," you tell stan as you lock your ankles together in the small of his back. 

"but you—" 

you tense. stan chokes. 

"you can catch up," you tell him, your hands sliding down the curve of his broad shoulders to the heavy thickness of his biceps. the skin there is silvered with stretch marks, a reminder of how quickly stan grew from boy to man. "i can wait." 

stan swears, a quick and quiet blasphemy, before he gives into your encouragement and his body's demands. he bows his head and fucks you like a beast; there is no thought to your pleasure, now, only his. you like it like this; you last longer, riding the edge of your own enjoyment, as he spends inside you again and again and again. you will not let him stop until he begs for an end, until his oversensitive body trembles, until he has no more to give. 

"fuh—uck!" stan curses as he spends. you can feel the heavy pulse of his dick inside you, filling you; you bite down on your lip to keep the sound of your needful shame within the cage of your mouth. " _fuck!_ " 

it will not be long before stan catches his breath and is ready for the third round. until then, you are content to hold him in the cradle of your body as he shakes apart, 

whisper "good boy," into the shell of his ear, 

and pretend that these minutes you've stolen are rightfully yours. 

.


End file.
